


A Revolt Against Fate

by nagoyadelay



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Art, Art Forgery, Art History, Going undercover, Heists, M/M, Maybe You'll Learn Something About Paintings?, Museums, Some Humor, Thinly-Veiled References to Actual Tech Billionaires, Vicchan Lives (but he's a ceramic figurine), Victor Wears a Smock, Yuuri Katsuki: Worstselling Author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-25 03:05:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10755432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagoyadelay/pseuds/nagoyadelay
Summary: "Art is a revolt against fate. All art is a revolt against man's fate." - Andre MalrauxThe art world is in crisis.  A billionaire’s rogue anti-arts coalition is destroying the world’s most valuable and important paintings, one by one.The Feltsman Foundation for the Arts has recruited six special agents to fight the war being waged on art.  Aided by once-in-a-generation painter Victor Nikiforov, award-winning museum curator/art expert/ceramics artist Yuuri Katsuki and his fellow operatives must save the rest of the targeted paintings before they are destroyed.(A story of art, forgery, espionage, and love.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All paintings are linked the first time they're mentioned if you want to look at them!

_PICASSO ARTWORK STOLEN; ANTI-ARTS GROUP VESLA CLAIMS CREDIT_

_MADRID – Pablo Picasso’s_ [ _Guernica_ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guernica_\(Picasso\)) _\- one of the world’s most famous and valuable paintings - was reported stolen from the Museo Reina Sofia in Madrid on Saturday evening._

_Museum officials state that there was no evidence of a break-in; however, security footage is being reviewed by the Cuerpo Nacional de Policía._

_This morning, a twitter account said to belong to an anonymous group called VESLA claimed responsibility for the theft.  VESLA recently made headlines for releasing their “anti-arts” manifesto, which claimed that all art was “worthless” and had no place in modern society with the advent of technology.  They also have made claims that they will eventually destroy all of the most valuable paintings in the world._

_Rumors persist that VESLA is funded by reclusive tech billionaire Eton Smith.  Smith has previously denied any involvement with the group, but was unable to be reached for comment on this story._

_This is the third such painting to disappear in recent months; Edvard Munch’s_ [ _The Scream_ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Scream) _was stolen from Oslo earlier this year, and Frida Kahlo’s_ [ _The Two Fridas_ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Two_Fridas) _was taken from Mexico City…_

* * *

Yuuri Katsuki reads over the beginning of the exhibition brochure one more time, even though he has it memorized by now.

_Victor Nikiforov (St. Petersburg, Russia) produces paintings that reflect upon life and love, and his intimate relationship with each.  Considered by many in the art world to be a once-in-a-generation talent, Nikiforov holds the record for the highest dollar amount sold at auction when his early work_ _The Lilac Fairy_ _was sold by Sotheby’s to a private collector._

_Nikiforov attributes his unprecedented success to his ability to surprise people…_

Yuuri can’t believe it.  It’s finally opening night for the exhibition that he’s worked for two years to get to the Hasetsu Museum of Contemporary Art.  He had spent months pleading his case for the exhibition to his executive director; he may have finally gotten the director to agree after the two of them had indulged in one too many highballs after work, but the method didn't matter. He had made at least three trips to Tokyo to secure sponsorship funding from the Russian Embassy of Japan, making stilted small talk through uncomfortable meetings with men who'd never even seen a Kandinsky painting in person.  All of his hard work has paid off, and Yuuri has curated his dream exhibit: _Victor Nikiforov: Stay Close to Me_.

The paintings are on the walls.  The exhibit labels are printed and translated into three different languages.  The exhibition brochures are folded.   The art prints and postcards are unboxed and laid out for display in the gift shop.  Yuuri made sure to place Victor’s special edition exhibition art book next to Yuuri’s own book: _Painting Techniques and Colors: A History, 1800-Present_.  (Though well-regarded in art circles, the museum has sold four copies of Yuuri’s book in the year since it was first published.  He suspects that all of them were sold to his friends and family members.)

The only thing left for Yuuri to do is to mentally prepare himself for tonight’s opening reception.  Because tonight, he will meet Victor Nikiforov; he will finally tell him exactly how much his artwork has meant to Yuuri.

* * *

Yuuri is not someone who gets nervous when talking to famous artists. He's not a particularly social person - he has exactly five non-work-related numbers stored in his phone and three of them are relatives - but he's met so many luminaries of the contemporary art world at this point that he's well-practiced at the mandatory hi-love-your-work-you're-amazing-thank-you-so-much conversations that occur between artist and curator at receptions. But Victor... Victor is absolutely beautiful in person, even more so than in photographs. He's wearing a perfectly fitted, slim-cut charcoal grey suit with notched lapels, a skinny black tie offsetting his crisp white shirt. Although Yuuri had over twenty sets of track lights installed above the exhibition's paintings, it seems to him as though all of the light in the room is shining elsewhere.

Yuuri - dressed in the same cheap black suit he's had since college, with a slightly boxy jacket and too-long pants that pool slightly around the ankles because he's been putting off taking them to the tailor for years - wonders if it's too late to just call off this entire exhibition. He can't possibly hold a conversation with Victor, not with him looking like _that_.

Still, it is custom for the featured artist to meet and thank the curator at the beginning of the evening - usually guided by their agent - so it's inevitable that he'll have to talk to Victor. He rehearses what he wants to say while standing next to the entrance: _Hello, I'm Yuuri Katsuki, exhibit curator. It's wonderful to meet you. Your art is incredible and inspiring and makes me feel certain emotions like nothing else can, like you may feel the same longing that I feel -_ He decides against that last bit. He doesn't want to come off as too much of a fan - he _is_ still at work. It would be unprofessional.

Yuuri waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Victor still has yet to introduce himself, and the exhibition has been going for nearly an hour. Yuuri nervously runs a hand through his hair. Did Victor not know about the custom? No, that's impossible given how many exhibitions that Victor has been in. Did Victor not realize who Yuuri was? He should have been briefed by his agent at the very least. Was Victor just rude? Did he take one look at Yuuri and think, "Absolutely not"?

Yuuri decides to be brave; he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life regretting the fact that he never spoke to Victor Nikiforov even though he was standing fifteen feet away. He catches Victor in a moment where all the people around him have dispersed.  When Yuuri approaches, Victor turns around and looks at him and _smiles_ , a smile as vivid as anything Victor has ever committed to canvas.

That smile - how are his teeth so perfect? - makes Yuuri falter in his practiced speech. "Hello, I'm Kuuri Yatsuki -" he stops, frowns. That doesn't sound right.

And then Victor looks directly at him and speaks. “A commemorative photo?”

Yuuri’s not sure what he expected Victor to say, but it certainly wasn’t _that_.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Perhaps Yuuri had heard Victor incorrectly.

Victor looked at him curiously. "You're a patron, yes? Wouldn't you like to take a photo with me?"

Yuuri frowned. Was Victor serious? He should be _thanking_ Yuuri for bringing his art to Japan for the first time. Victor hadn't even bothered to find out who Yuuri was; Victor didn't know that Yuuri was the reason Victor was even _there_. Victor had no idea that an entire wall in Yuuri's otherwise minimalist apartment was covered in framed prints of Victor's paintings.

The fact that to Victor, Yuuri is just an anonymous patron of the arts - it feels like the opposite of a thank you.

Yuuri doesn’t speak.  He simply turns and walks away from Victor.  Yuuri can’t take it.  He can’t.

Yuuri makes a beeline for the complimentary drink table. He hesitates - should he drink at work? - but notes that the higher-ups are drinking, so it's probably okay for him to have a few. So Yuuri downs a glass of champagne. The taste lingers in his throat, sweet and dry.

It's a pretty small glass, so Yuuri decides to have another.

And then another.

And there are several more instances of "another", and, well, Yuuri remembers nothing after glass number seventeen.

* * *

Yuuri wakes up on the floor in his office the next morning.  He’s lying underneath his desk, using his balled-up suit jacket as a pillow; his tie has disappeared completely. He squints around his general vicinity in search of his glasses before finding them on top of the desk. He has terrible breath and a roaring headache.  Never has he been more thankful that the museum is closed on Sundays.

He puts his suit jacket back on, flattens his hair as much as he can to look presentable and not like someone who slept on their office floor, and hurries out the back door, avoiding the exhibition room at all costs. He'll get over the sting of his interaction with Victor in time, but he definitely doesn't want to think about it today. If he leaves now, he can catch the next train instead of having to wait for thirteen extra minutes.

* * *

_VAN GOGH MUSEUM MAKES STATEMENT: “A GREAT LOSS FOR THE NETHERLANDS”_

_AMSTERDAM – The Van Gogh Museum has released an official statement in regards to the theft that occurred last Saturday evening._

_“The Van Gogh Museum is devastated by the recent theft of_ [ _Almond Blossom_](https://www.vangoghmuseum.nl/en/collection/s0176V1962) _.  The painting was very special to the Van Gogh family, and contributed greatly to the museum’s founding.  Its absence is a great loss not only for our museum, but a great loss for the Netherlands._

_We will continue to cooperate with authorities in hopes that whomever is responsible for the theft will be brought to justice._

_Our mission remains to make the life and work of Vincent van Gogh and the art of his time accessible to as many people as possible in order to enrich and inspire them.”_

_Van Gogh’s Almond Blossom is the most recent of several valuable paintings to be stolen in the past few months.  Anonymous anti-arts group VESLA has claimed responsibility for the thefts._

* * *

Two months after the exhibition's opening, Yuuri is spending his afternoon carefully packing the remainder of the paintings into wooden crates in order for them to be sent back to their permanent home in the collection of the Erarta Museum in St. Petersburg.   _Victor Nikiforov: Stay Close to Me_ was a tremendous success; the museum did its highest attendance numbers since Takashi Murakami’s show nearly three years ago.  Yuuri even sold a fifth copy of his book to some unknown painting technique enthusiast.

Yuuri kneels on the exhibition room floor and nails the final crate shut.  All there is left for him to do is wait for the representatives from Victor's management company to arrive.  This is very different from how his museum usually conducts business; most of the time, Yuuri supervises the crates as they make their way from the museum to a commercial aircraft, handing off responsibility from the plane onwards to professional art courier.  Yuuri has hardly ever shipped paintings by private plane, but it was by no means unheard of. Especially not for paintings as valuable as Victor's.

The freight door buzzer sounds.  Yuuri wipes some sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand - he's been lifting and packing for hours - and leaves the exhibition hall to answer the door.

Waiting for him on the other side of the freight door is a severe-looking woman with knife-edged cheekbones and hair pulled into a tense bun.  Yuuri thinks he recognizes her from the _Stay Close to Me_ opening reception.  She is accompanied by a miserable-looking young man with a uniquely pointed hair quiff and dour black clothes.

“Hello, are you here for the Nikiforov paintings?”  Yuuri asks.

“I am Lilia Baronovskaya.”  Lilia announces instead of answering.  Yuuri waits for her to hold out her hand to shake, or say hello, or do something to signal friendliness or at least acknowledgment that she’s here for Victor’s artwork.

It doesn’t happen.

Yuuri tries again.  “Hello, I’m-.”

“I know who you are.”  She cuts him off.  “Why else would I be here?”

Yuuri doesn’t have an answer.  He tries to find one in the expression of the man who has accompanied Lilia, but his face remains impassive.  Lilia walks past Yuuri into the exhibition room; after closing the door, Yuuri follows Lilia and her companion through the back hallway and into the exhibition room, now empty except for the two large wooden crates.  He gestures toward one of the two benches in the exhibition room in case she would like to have a seat.  Lilia looks at the bench like it’s covered in thumbtacks.

“I am Vice President of the Feltsman Foundation for the Arts.  Are you familiar with it?”

“Yes, I’m familiar.”  Of course Yuuri is familiar with them.  The Feltsman Foundation for the Arts is the most well-known charitable arts organization in the world, with an endowment upwards of $2 billion.  (Though they’ve never responded to any of Yuuri’s grant requests with anything other than a polite "We're not interested at this time.".)

“Very good.  Have you heard about the recent thefts of famous paintings from around the world?”

“Yes, I have.  The ones by VESLA.”  Why does Lilia think he wouldn’t know? He’s a _curator_. Honestly, Yuuri is a little offended.

“Very well.”  Lilia continues as if Yuuri had said that he knows nothing. “In the past three months, four of the world’s most famous paintings have gone missing. Thus far, VESLA have taken _The Scream_ , _The Two Fridas_ , _Guernica_ , and _Almond Blossom_.  Our analysts have seen a pattern emerge.  Do you know what it is?”

Yuuri shakes his head.  They’re all very significant works of art, but they don’t necessarily have much else in common.

“The paintings that have been stolen are all located within the home country of the artist who painted them.  The thefts aren’t just a loss for the art world, but a blow to the country’s national pride.”

Yuuri tilts his head, thinking about which paintings are in which museums to fact check if what Lilia’s saying is true.  (And it is, he thinks, since _The Scream_ is no longer on loan to MoMA.)

Lilia continues. “The Feltsman Foundation has been funding a counter-intelligence operation against the group of perpetrators.  Thus, we believe that we have knowledge of the next painting that VESLA plans to take.  And now we require your assistance.  You need to come to Russia with me right away.”

“What?”

Lilia glares at him.  You  _are_ Yuuri Katsuki,award-winning museum curator and the author of _Painting Techniques and Colors: A History, 1800-Present_ , correct?”

“Yes, but-”

“We believe that with your help, we will be able to prevent any more art from being stolen or destroyed by VESLA.  To execute our plan, we need an expert in a variety of painting techniques as well as someone with historical color knowledge. And you happen to be both. We need your help to save the art world, Yuuri Katsuki. I promise that you will be handsomely compensated.”

“But I have another exhibition to set up –“

“My assistants will move the crates,” Lilia says.  “I will give you until eleven o'clock tonight to pack and get your affairs in order.  I already have a three-month visa approved for you. We will meet on the civil aviation side of Fukuoka Airport.  Please be on time.”

Lilia leaves the room without giving Yuuri a chance to say no; he's too stunned to follow. He supposes that no one ever says no to her.

* * *

Yuuri returns to his apartment after his strange encounter with Lilia. His brain is swimming and he's stunned; of all the art experts in the world, why him? It's a bit infuriating that he's expected to just drop everything and travel to another continent on someone else's whim. He has a job that he loves, and his family and friends are nearby - his life is nowhere near as exciting as, say, Victor Nikiforov's life must be, but it's still _his_ , where he has the final say in all of his decisions.

He makes a quick call to his museum director - it's probably a good idea to let them know what happened earlier, even though he's already decided to simply not show up at the airport - he can't stand pushy people, and his conversation with Lilia - the sheer presumptuousness of it all - had rubbed him exactly the wrong way. "Yuuri!" Minako practically shouts into the phone. "I was expecting your call. Are you going to take the sabbatical?"

Yuuri pauses before speaking. It seems like every second there's a new surprise to shake him until he's no longer standing. He practically spits out the word: "Sabbatical?"

"Yes, I was contacted by Yakov Feltsman himself this morning, can you believe it? He promised to match our donations for the entire year if I let you take a sabbatical. I'm not sure what work you're doing with them, but what a fantastic opportunity! You'd be a fool to pass it up, Yuuri, whatever it is! And the extra funding will be great for the museum."

So _this_ is how the Feltsman Foundation was going to convince him to go. Bribery. If he doesn't get on that plane to Russia, the Hasetsu Museum of Contemporary Art - the museum he'd shepherded into becoming the single-best mid-sized art museum in Japan, even better than that one in Kanazawa  - will lose out on the single largest donation it had ever been promised.

Yuuri sighed. "I would be a fool to pass it up," he agrees. "I'm excited for the opportunity." It's not a lie - there is a small part of him that is excited, but it's pretty well buried under shock and annoyance.

"Fantastic!" Minako declares. "Well, I'll see you when you come back. You'll always have a place at the museum, you know that."

"Thank you, Minako. I'd better get going."

"Keep in touch! Let me know how it goes! Bye!"

Yuuri ends the call and sighs. Now that he has no museum obligations, the only thing tethering him to Hasetsu is his family. If he packs quickly enough and doesn't dally, he can go to family's onsen for dinner before he heads to the airport.

Yuuri pulls a duffel bag out of a closet and begins sifting through a pile of clean laundry draped over his futon; he hadn't had time to put his clothes away earlier after taking them off the drying line. He doesn't bother looking at the contents - every article of clothing he owns is fairly nondescript anyway - and begins shoving everything in the bag as fast as he can. He grabs his laptop and a few toiletries and adds them to the bag as well. He looks at the ceramic poodle on his nightstand; he'd crafted the tiny likeness of a poodle near the end of his time in university, before his skills were fully developed as they are now, but it's still a good, fond likeness. He'd always wanted a dog of his own, but felt at this point in his life that he was too much of a workaholic to be able to give a dog all of the love, care, and affection it deserved. So instead, he had made a figurine that he had fondly nicknamed Vicchan. He carefully wraps the figurine in a thick hoodie and adds it to the bag. He takes one last, long look around his apartment; even though he assumes he'll be back soon enough, there's a finality in his abrupt departure. His hands are shaking as he opens the door to leave.

It occurs to Yuuri that this mysterious journey he's about to embark upon is the second most interesting thing that he's ever done. (He's had dinner with Yayoi Kusama, after all.)

* * *

"It's so good of you to come for dinner, Yuuri " Hiroko says. "You don't come over often enough."

"I know," Yuuri says to his mother between bites of katsudon. How is he possibly going to tell them what he is about to do? It's probably best to just get it over with quickly and not draw it out. "So, uh, I'm leaving for Russia tonight as part of an, um- " Yuuri pauses while he collects his thoughts and tries to describe what he's doing as vaguely as possible. "- an art program. It's a unique... unexpected... opportunity." Well, that was all certainly true.

Yuuri looks up from his bowl to see his entire family frozen in place and staring at him with disbelieving eyes.

His sister, Mari, is the first one to break the silence. "Let me get this straight. You're leaving for Russia tonight. Completely out of the blue, with no warning to anyone. But you can't tell us exactly why you're going."

Yuuri nods at Mari; his parents are still silent, looking at him with raised eyebrows and perplexed mouths. It's pretty much the reaction that Yuuri has expected, even with this big of a bombshell dropped on them. He does not come from a demonstrative family; there would be no raised voices or ultimatums. Just a mixture of quiet surprise and concern, tempered by the fact that Yuuri's family trusts him to make decent personal decisions.

"I promise that I don't owe anyone money and I haven't committed any crimes," Yuuri preemptively reassures his family. Not that he thinks they'd think that of him, but it's an unusual circumstance and he wants to cover his bases. "It's a... unique but top-secret art project." Yuuri supposes that's one way of putting it.

"When will you be back?" his father, Toshiya, asks.

Yuuri realizes that he could be gone anywhere from a few days to three months based on the length of the visa. "Probably no longer than three months?" Can Russian visas be renewed? Yuuri has no idea. "It depends on how long the program takes." His father nods in response.

Mari still looks aghast at the news that her only brother is abruptly leaving for Russia with zero notice. "Why didn't you tell us about this sooner?"

"I just found out about it this afternoon."

"What kind of program only gives you hours of notice?" Mari asks.

"It's a very... elite program." Yuuri decides that saying that it's elite can't be a lie. It's elite in the sense that he's now responsible for "saving the art world," as Lilia had put it.

Mari opens her mouth to say something else, then simply shakes her head and resumes eating. His parents say nothing else, but he catches them giving each other worried glances when they think Yuuri's not looking.

The rest of dinner is awkward, and the cloud of uneasiness continues until he says his goodbyes to his family and leaves the onsen. He promises to call as soon as he's able, though he has no idea when that will be. Yuuri feels tense and exhausted by the time he leaves. It takes every ounce of resolve he has to get on the train to the airport.

* * *

Yuuri has only ever experienced the resplendent horrors of commercial aviation: dragging himself through sluggish and invasive airport security lines; sitting in a horribly uncomfortable chrome-armed chair while waiting on a delayed flight; passive-aggressively maneuvering with a stranger for space on a plane seat armrest; fighting to make sure someone else doesn't accidentally make off with his nondescript black duffle at baggage claim. He knew that flying on a private plane would be different, but he didn't realize _how_ different it was until he arrives at the airport and sees a young, handsome dark-haired man holding an iPad with Yuuri's name on the screen.

"Yuuri Katsuki?" the man says in a thick Russian accent. He's wearing a white shirt with gold wings clipped over his right breastpocket, black pants, and sensible dress shoes, "I'm Evgeny - I will be the attendant on your flight. Please, follow me." Yuuri follows Evgeny down a hallway and straight out a pair of double doors onto the tarmac.

"Wait," Yuuri says, standing at the edge of the tarmac. "Don't I have to go through security screening?"

The man chuckles. "You've never done this before, huh? You don't have to go through security over here." Yuuri smiles to himself as he follows the man across the tarmac and to a set of airstairs heading into to a plane nearly the size of a regional jet. Yuuri is awestruck at the size of the plane, looming large and white against the dark sky; he'd always thought private jets were much smaller.

"The Global 5000," Evgeny says, as though reading his mind. "He's a beautiful aircraft. The best private jet that money can buy." Evgeny gestures to Yuuri's duffle bag. "Unless there's anything you need in here, leave it on the tarmac and we'll load it into cargo. Keep in mind that we have phone chargers and headphones available on the plane, so you don't have to worry about getting those out."

Yuuri leaves the duffle bag at the foot of the airstairs and climbs up the stairs, holding the handrail the entire way because he needed something stable to tie him back to reality, to reassure him that this was really happening.

Yuuri enters the aircraft, walking past the dark cherry wood of the galley cabinets, and stops. There are eight leather seats in front of him, each roughly the size of a standard living-room armchair and set conversationally in two groups of four. Three of the seats are already have occupants: the sad man from the museum has a large pair of headphones on in the third row; Lilia, looking much less intimidating, asleep with her hair down and an eye mask; and an unfamiliar red-headed woman wrapped in a blanket in the second row, flipping through a magazine. Beyond this seating area he can see a second seating area, with a table, a full-size leather couch and a huge flat-screen television. Evgeny gestures to an empty seat in the first row, facing backwards. "Would you like a drink?" Evgeny asks. "Perhaps a fruit or cheese plate?"

"Maybe later," Yuuri says. He's supposes that he's working, and he remembers what happened the last time he drank while working; even thinking about all of that champagne makes his stomach a little queasy.

"Very well. The restroom is at the back of the cabin. Please press the attendant button -," Evgeny points to a button panel on the side of Yuuri's chair, "- if you need anything at all."

Yuuri sits down and buckles his seatbelt. He examines the button panel further. One button seems to recline the chair; he'll have to test that out after takeoff. Another seems to control the volume on the small pull-out flat-screen currently hidden the chair's right armrest. There's a button simply shaped like a plane window; Yuuri wonders what that could possibly do. He decides to give it a try.

The window shade goes down automatically at the press of the button. Somehow, this seems like the most luxurious revelation of all.

* * *

Yuuri drifts off to sleep shortly after takeoff after reclining his seat; he wakes up about four hours later, covered in the softest blanket he's ever felt in his entire life. Evgeny is immediately at his side with a hot towel and a bottle of water. Seeing that Yuuri is awake, the redhead moves to the seat across from Yuuri.

“Hi! I’m Mila,” she says with a smile as Yuuri fastens his seatbelt.

“Yuuri.”  Mila smiles at him.  He’s relieved that someone traveling with Lilia knows how to smile.  He thought that maybe Lilia had banned smiling altogether.

“Oh, I _know_ ," Mila assures Yuuri. Yuuri wonders what she means by that, but doesn't ask. "Behind me – “ Mila points her thumb behind her like a hitchhiker – “is Georgi.  He’s not always this miserable, I promise.”  Mila drops her voice to a whisper.  “He just got dumped by his girlfriend.”

Yuuri simply nods in acknowledgment. He's never been dumped. Being dumped requires you to first be in a relationship, and Yuuri has never had one.

“I’m guessing Lilia didn’t explain things thoroughly to you, right?  Just ordered you to get on the plane?”

“Pretty much,” Yuuri admitted.  “I thought that I'd be setting up for my next exhibition this week."  Yuuri paused, lost in thought.  Who would do that in his absence? "I’m still not sure why I’m here.”

“I can help with that,” Mila says.  “The Feltsman Foundation has commissioned an artist to paint fakes of the paintings that our agents know VESLA to be targeting.  We need someone who can help us get the painting as close to period authentic as possible.  And you came highly recommended.”

 _They’d have to commission one of the greatest painters in the world to paint that convincing of a fake_ , Yuuri thinks.  He wonders who could have possibly recommended him for this. One of his professors, possibly?

“Our small team of elite ground operatives – called 4F - will be in charge of the painting replacement. When a museum is targeted by VESLA – and it will be – VESLA will steal a fake painting instead of the authentic version.  The real painting will then be safely stored by our museum contact.”

“If the foundation knows what museum they'll be at, and what painting they’re going to take, why not go to the police?”  Yuuri thinks this is a fair question; art theft is a serious and expensive crime.

“Eton Smith is one of the most powerful men in the world, Yuuri.  And he’s not the only billionaire involved.  The police have been well compensated to look the other way as long as it’s art at stake and not bodies.”

“But why isn’t the foundation just stopping them from taking the paintings in the first place?” Yuuri asks.

“Our intelligence still isn’t sure who the individuals in VESLA are, if they’re armed, or when exactly they’re going to strike. And we want to ensure the safety of our crew as well as the safety of the artwork.  If we can stay ahead of them, they’ll slip up and we’ll catch them eventually." Yuuri can't believe how optimistic Mila sounds about the operation. "Anyway," Mila continues, "Did you try the cheese plate? It's incredible."

If Mila sounds optimistic, Yuuri thinks he should just go with the flow. This entire setup - and the fact that he's a part of it - is absurd and he'd never be able to explain it to anyone he knows. Yuuri decides at this moment that from now on, he's just going to accept whatever ridiculous new twist comes his way and work with it.

Yuuri smiles. "Tell me more about this cheese plate."

* * *

Yuuri spends the rest of the flight making the most of his first private jet experience: he eats a customized charcuterie plate prepared by Evgeny; he takes a shower in the plane bathroom - he can't get over the fact that the plane has an actual, honest-to-God built-in shower, and thus remains under the water far longer than he would otherwise; he sits on the couch in the back with Mila and watches some sort of screwball Russian comedy with poorly translated English subtitles. The plane touches down in St. Petersburg with a silver of sun peeking through an otherwise cloudy, grey sky; Yuuri realizes that he has absolutely no clue what time zone he's currently in, and he feels the slight disorientation of impending jet lag.

As the aircraft taxis towards the general aviation area of Pulkovo airport, Yuuri turns to Mila. "Do you happen to know where I'm going to be staying?"

Mila nods. "You'll be staying at the Feltsman Foundation building - there are some living quarters. They're mostly for the handful of people accepted into the Emerging Artists program and a few other grant recipients." He feels a jolt as the plane stops moving. As Yuuri stands up and stretches, he looks out the window to see five young men pulling the crates of Victor's paintings out of the cargo belly of the aircraft. He's a little relieved that he isn't expected to help move them after such a long flight.

There are two large black cars with tinted windows waiting for the four of them outside of the airport. A driver hurries out to open the door of one of them; Lilia steps in without a single parting word. Yuuri follows Mila and Georgi into the second car.

"I'm sorry, I'm not usually like this," Georgi says to Yuuri as the car leaves the airport. Georgi's eyes are rimmed red and his face is puffy from high-altitude tears. Yuuri suspects that Georgi is, in fact, always like this. "It's just - I loved her so much -" Yuuri isn't sure what to say, so he just gives Georgi what he hopes is a sympathetic-seeming half-nod and then spends the rest of the car ride looking down at his phone. He wonders if he can submit an expense report to the Feltsman Foundation for roaming charges.

The hired car stops in front of an imposing brutalist building in the heart of St. Petersburg; Mila and Georgi climb out of the car and Yuuri follows, taking his duffel bag out of the trunk. The front door reads _Feltsman Foundation for the Arts_ in stylish block letters.

“I’ll show you where you're staying and then introduce you to the painter you’ll be working with,” Mila says.  “The sleeping rooms are on the seventh floor. There's a lounge with a small kitchenette if you want to relax or cook anything. The cafeteria is on the third floor.”

As Yuuri runs through his mental list of modern painters he thinks he could be working with - he could see Zeng Fanzhi being approached for something like this, perhaps - a thought occurs to Yuuri.  “Does the painter speak Japanese?”  Yuuri asks as they wait for the elevator.   Yuuri doesn’t speak any Russian.

“No, but they do speak English, so you shouldn’t have a problem communicating.” Yuuri lets out a small sigh of relief. He can work with English.

Mila leads Yuuri to a medium-size dormitory-style room with two twin beds and an attached bathroom. It's spartan, but comfortable. “You have the room to yourself,” Mila says before Yuuri can even ask. "Housekeeping comes once a week to clean and change linens. And I grabbed you a few voltage adapters for your electronics - they're on top of the nightstand." Mila hands him a plastic card. "This is your building access card. It will let you into the building after hours. It also gives you access to the kiln in the basement, though you're not going to have a ton of free time."

"Thank you," Yuuri says.

“Here, put your bag down and I’ll take you to meet the painter.  He’s staying in a room just down the hall.”

Yuuri sets his duffle bag on one of the empty beds and follows Mila.  She knocks on a closed door; Yuuri hears soft music coming from the other side.  “Victor?”  Mila calls.

Yuuri’s heart stops when Victor Nikiforov opens the door.

The thought of Victor being the painter had crossed Yuuri’s mind, but he had quickly dismissed it; he had assumed that Victor was too busy and too famous to spend a significant chunk of time replicating some of the world’s most well known paintings.  But Victor was one of the most talented painters alive.  If anyone could paint convincing fakes of a variety of different works, it would be him.

And here he is, standing in the doorframe wearing a thin t-shirt and pajama pants.  Yuuri can’t breathe.

“Hi, Mila!”  Victor says.  And then he looks over and smiles.  “Yuuri!  I’m so glad you’re finally here.”

Yuuri wonders why Victor knows his name. He wonders why Victor is looking at him like someone that he's incredibly happy to see.

“I can’t wait to work with you,” Victor continues.  “Come in, come in!”  Victor steps back so Yuuri can enter Victor’s room.  Yuuri’s feet are rooted to the ground.

“See you later!”  Mila calls, already halfway down the hallway.

“Wait –“

“Come in, Yuuri,” Victor repeats.  “Let’s get to know each other better.”

Yuuri finally follows Victor into the room and Victor shuts the door behind them; it’s the same setup as Yuuri’s, though slightly bigger and much more lived-in.  There’s a poodle snoozing on top of one of the beds.  Victor sits on the other bed and pats the space next to him.  “Sit here, Yuuri.”

Yuuri sits, though he keeps a generous amount of personal space between them.

Which Victor promptly ignores.  “Yuuri,” he says, leaning his face toward Yuuri’s. “Tell me everything about you.”  Victor takes Yuuri’s hand; he touches Yuuri’s chin.  “What made you decide to become a curator?  What’s there to do in your hometown?  Is there someone you like romantically?  Before we start painting, let’s build some trust in our relationship.”  Victor looks directly into Yuuri’s eyes and not only can Yuuri not breathe, he’s so far removed from breathing that he’s forgotten what air even is.

Yuuri comes to his senses and quickly stands up, leans against the door.  When he looks back at Victor he’s surprised to see that Victor is frowning at him.  “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Yuuri replies. "Not really."

“Okay.”  Victor’s smile returns, but it’s not the same as before.  “Did anyone tell you what painting we’re working on first?”

“No.”

“[ _Nighthawks_ ](https://www.google.com/culturalinstitute/beta/asset/-/6AEKkO_F-9wicw), by Edward Hopper.  I’m excited for the challenge.  And for you to ensure it’s as accurate as possible, of course.”  Victor smiles at Yuuri again. "There's no way I'd be able to do this alone. We're partners!"

This time, Yuuri smiles back. "Partners," he says, trying out the word. He likes the way it sounds.

* * *

Driven by a combination of jet lag and a desire to impress Victor, Yuuri stays up most of that evening researching.  He’s bleary-eyed when Victor knocks on his door again in the morning.

“Yuuri!  Time to wake up.  Let’s get started!”

Yuuri gets out of bed and cracks open the door.  Victor is wide-awake and fully dressed.  The sun isn’t even up yet and Victor still manages to look amazing.

“Give me ten minutes,” Yuuri mumbles. He rifles through his bag for clean clothes; he hadn't bothered to hang anything up last night, so it's all a bit wrinkled. He tries to shake the wrinkles out of a long-sleeved blue button-down before giving up and putting it on anyway. After brushing his teeth and combing his hair, Yuuri opens the door once again.

"That was twelve minutes," Victor says, looking down at his phone. "You need to work on your time estimation abilities, Yuuri."

Yuuri says nothing - his brain isn't nearly awake enough yet for any kind of retort - and follows Victor to the elevator bay. “The studio we’ll be in is on the top floor,” Victor says as they wait.  “Everything we need is in there.  No one’s allowed to use it but me.”

“Do you do most of your painting here?”  Yuuri asks.

“Mostly here, occasionally at home,“ Victor replies.  “There’s not much ventilation in my condo.  And it’s pretty small.”

They’re silent as they take the elevator up to the top floor.  Yuuri shifts his weight between his feet, shuffles his pages of handwritten notes.

“Here we are,” Victor says as the elevator opens.  Victor turns on the light.

The entire top floor is Victor’s studio.  It’s a large, windowless room; it’s much more industrial-looking when compared to the rest of the building’s interior, with exposed brick and ductwork.  It’s also a mess, with tables full of paint tubes and brushes and what seem to be rough sketches.   Several easels are set up along the leftmost wall with paintings in various states of completion.  One easel has the canvas flipped over.  Yuuri wonders what’s on the other side. _Probably a reject painting_ , he thinks.  He finds it comforting that even Victor makes mistakes.

Victor leads him to an easel with a blank canvas at the center of the room.  Yuuri nearly trips as he steps on the drop cloth, but catches himself.

“ _Nighthawks_ has some unique measurements –“ Yuuri looks down at his notes - “84.1 centimeters by 152.4 centimeters.  So we can’t get started until we’re able to get a custom canvas.  And it will need to have an older wood panel.  If a historian examines the painting he may try to test the wood, or count the rings in it.”

“Already here!”  Victor knocks twice on the empty canvas with his hand.  Yuuri blinks twice.  “Really?”

“You’re not the only one doing research, Yuuri.”  Victor’s tone implies a double meaning, but Yuuri has no idea what it could possibly be.  Yuuri eyeballs the canvas; it looks to be the right size.  He’s hung enough paintings to be able to get a rough estimate.  He dips his head behind the canvas to look at the wood.  He’s not sure how Victor was able to pull it off, but the wood definitely appears to be from the 1940s.

“Wow.  Okay.” Yuuri turns back to Victor.  “Uh… the technique is pretty simple, as you probably know.”  Yuuri can’t believe he’s telling his favorite painter how to paint.   “According to my research, he only used twelve different colors from Winsor and Newton.  Can I see your paints?”

Victor leads Yuuri away from the easel and to a giant table of paint tubes.  “I have a lot of Winsor and Newton tubes.” Victor says as he points to a smaller group of paints on the edge of the table.  “It looks messy, but I have them sorted by type.  I promise.”

Yuuri picks the tubes up in pairs, examining them. He throws one over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

“You can’t use that one.”

"Did you really need to throw it?"

"Sorry," Yuuri says in a tone that indicates he isn't sorry in the least. “Hopper used a lead-based white for this.  He said that zinc led to flaking.” Victor nods.  “Lead white dries faster anyway.”

“You’re amazing!”  Victor says with a smile.

Yuuri smiles back at him.  “That’s all the pre-painting notes I have, so… let’s get started.”

* * *

Watching Victor paint is even better than Yuuri could have ever dreamed.

He’s wearing a smock, and his bangs are clipped out of his eyes.  Every so often he steps back from the canvas and bites his lower lip, lost in thought.  Yuuri watches the curve of his left arm as he holds his palette; the way he mixes the paints so deftly with his palette knife.  Yuuri thinks that he could do nothing but watch Victor paint every day for the rest of his life and die a happy man.

Yuuri barely notices the horrible smell of turpentine, though the mask he’s wearing over his mouth and nose certainly helps.

“Hopper made a lot of sketches of this painting, and I’ve been studying those ever since I found out what I’d be doing,” Victor says as he paints large, even strokes across the bottom of the canvas.  “But it’s really about getting the geometry and angles correct.”

“Why did you agree to do this?” Yuuri asks. He's seated to Victor's right, far enough out of his way to not disturb his painting but still close enough to be able to look and comment. 

“There’s nothing I like more than doing the opposite of what people expect.  What’s more surprising than Victor Nikiforov, secret art forger?”

Yuuri thinks that there are several things that could be more surprising. "Victor Nikiforov, secret spy? Secret mathematician? Secret figure skater?"

"Professional figure skater would be more surprising, wouldn't it?" Victor swipes a mid-sized amount of yellow paint across the canvas. "Do you think this shade of yellow is okay?"

"It's sort of off," Yuuri says from his chair. "It needs just a little bit more green mixed in, I think."

"Victor turns to smile at him. "How could I ever do this without you?"

"Probably quite easily," Yuuri says. "You've been painting for what, twenty years?"

"I didn't mean it quite like _that_ ," Victor huffs. His expression softens as he opens the green paint tube. "Before you came along, I was very uninspired. I hadn't been able to finish any paintings that I was happy with for a long time. But now, I feel different. Better. Thank you, Yuuri."

Yuuri is stunned into silence. Victor says nothing further; smiling softly into his canvas. 

* * *

The two of them continue like this for a week; Victor painting, Yuuri watching and occasionally giving tips on color, historical accuracy, and painting likeness.  Victor works quickly and methodically; Yuuri is disappointed on the day he finally finishes.

Yuuri steps back to look at the completed painting.  “This is incredible.”

“It’s not as fulfilling as my personal work.  But I’m proud I was able to get such a close likeness.” Victor pauses.  “See how the buildings have slightly different vanishing points?”

Yuuri tilts his head.  “I’m not sure I do,” he says.

“Take a closer look.”  Victor takes Yuuri’s hand and holds it just above the canvas, tracing a line across the air above it.   “That was the hardest part to get right.  I like Hopper alright - he's not my favorite, but some of his works are very striking. I’ve always related to [ _New York Movie_ ](https://www.wikiart.org/en/edward-hopper/not_detected_235598).”

“I think [ _Automat_ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Automat_\(painting\)) is my favorite.”

Victor is still holding Yuuri’s hand.

“We should get out of here,” Victor says.  “I have to turn up the heat in here to try to get this to dry faster.  Even a ten-degree change should cut the drying time in half.”

Yuuri thinks that the room is already very, very warm.

* * *

Yuuri and Victor head down to Lilia’s office together to give her the good news.

“Wonderful!” she says.  “I’ll have Georgi call the 4F team to assemble here by Friday. Victor, will that be enough time for the painting to dry?”

Victor nods.  “Then all of you will fly to America.  Our contact will be waiting for you at the Art Institute of Chicago.”  “You -” she points at Yuuri -“are in charge of making sure that the paintings are a perfect match.”

“I should go too,” Victor says suddenly.  “In case… I need to do any last minute touchups or changes.”

“Fine,” Lilia says dismissively.  “But behave yourself, Victor.”

Yuuri can’t believe it.  He’s going to Chicago.  He’s responsible for the safety of not only Victor’s painting, but the real version of _Nighthawks_.  He thanks every higher power he can possibly name as well as whomever recommended him to the Feltsman Foundation. He never thought a career in art curation would lead to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any actual art historians or painters are reading this: I did a lot of research but there may be some inaccuracies and I apologize for them in advance.
> 
> Talk to me about private planes and cheese plates on tumblr at [nagoyadelay](https://nagoyadelay.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor, Yuuri and the SV team travel to Chicago to swap paintings.

“It’s been a few years since I’ve had to pack a slightly wet canvas,” Yuuri says.

Yuuri is kneeling on the floor of the studio with Victor, constructing a makeshift case to surround the frame of Victor’s copy of _Nighthawks_ using Styrofoam, thumbtacks, and cardboard.  Yuuri’s plan is to place the Styrofoam around the edges of the frame so that the tacked-up cardboard juts out around it; then, he’ll wrap the entire thing in a tarp in case of rain.  He hopes that will be enough to prevent any damage and keep any paint from smudging; though the canvas is mostly dry, it can take up to six months for oil paints to dry completely.  But they simply don’t have that much time.

“Sorry I don’t have a crate that’s the correct size,” Victor says apologetically.  “I should have had one constructed at the same time that I had the canvas and the frame made.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says.  “That might have just called more attention to what we’re doing.”

Victor nods. “I suppose so.”

“Hold the Styrofoam here.”  Victor dutifully holds it in place as Yuuri thumbtacks a corner of cardboard to it.

“Did you go to school for art?”  Victor asks as Yuuri cuts cardboard around a corner.

“I did.  I was a double major in art and art history, followed by museum studies.”

“You're still an artist as well, yes?"

Yuuri looks surprised that Victor would know such a thing. "Yes, but I'm not much of a traditional oil painter, even though it's one of my preferred mediums to study from a historical perspective," Yuuri admits. "I mostly work with ceramics.  But I'm just your average dime-a-dozen clay thrower.”

Victor tilts his head, as though he doesn't entirely believe Yuuri's self-assessment.  “I can understand why you were drawn to ceramics. It makes a lot of sense,” Victor says.

“Why does that make sense?”

Yuuri’s eyes widen as Victor takes Yuuri’s left hand into his own.  “The best potters I’ve known move their hands like they’re creating music.  You have hands like that.  Even when cutting out pieces of cardboard.”

Yuuri drops the scissors he’s holding in his right hand.

* * *

“Have you met them before?” Yuuri asks Victor. They’re seated in matching leather armchairs, waiting in the Feltsman Foundation lounge for the 4F Team to arrive. Yuuri can’t stop fiddling with the recliner dial on his chair, accidentally popping out the footrest so many times that Victor takes his hand so that Yuuri will just stop messing with it already.

For most of the day, Yuuri’s imagination has run wild with ideas of what the members of the 4F team would be like. A bunch of suave super-spies with the grace of – figure skaters, maybe?

"I know them quite well,” Victor says. “They act as bodyguards when not on assignment from Yakov. They’ve been to many of my events.”

Yuuri wonders if they were at the exhibition in Hasetsu; he doesn't recall seeing any secret agents. Perhaps they were undercover. Inconspicuous.

Yuuri’s thoughts are interrupted by a loud door slam echoing through the hallway. It’s followed by thunderous footsteps getting closer and closer and closer and –

“YOU.”

In the doorframe is a blonde man – more of a teenager, really – pointing directly at Yuuri with a glare that could strip paint from a canvas.

“Hello?” Yuuri says. It’s a question, not a greeting. He swears that he’s never seen this person before in his life.

“There’s only room for ONE Yuri here, got it?”

“Yuri!” Victor scolds. “You have to be kind to our guest. Just because –“

“I don’t _have_ to do anything.” Yuri flops down on an empty sofa as far from Yuuri’s chair as he can possibly get. The sofa looks comically large against his slight frame.

Yuuri's not sure what to say to this brash interloper; he settles upon an awkward "I’m sorry… I don't think we've met."

Yuri glares at him from his place on the sofa. “Seriously?” he says before ignoring Yuuri and Victor in favor of his phone.

“Yuri’s the stealth specialist of 4F,” Victor stage-whispers to Yuuri. “He’s good at staying hidden. As long as he doesn't talk, that is.”

“I swear to god, Victor, if you don’t shut up I’m going to break into the Erarta and draw mustaches all over your famed Makkachin triptych.”

"He can sneak around more quietly than anyone I’ve ever known,” Victor continues. “He’s like a cat. In many different ways.” Yuuri looks at the teen curled up and scowling in the far corner of the sofa and silently agrees. He half expects him to furiously start tearing up the furniture with his nails.

Yuri jumps up at the appearance of a new person in the doorway. “Thank God you’re finally here. Let’s ditch these losers and head to the cafeteria.” 

The person in the doorway appears to be slightly older than Yuri – probably still a teenager as well, Yuuri thinks – with a sharp undercut and dark eyes. He gives Yuuri a quick thumbs up and a “Hi, I'm Otabek, nice to meet you” before leaving.

“Come on, let’s go!” Yuri says, practically dragging Otabek down the hall and towards the elevators.

“Otabek’s the muscle,” Victor explains. “One of those short-but-strong-but-silent types. I’ve never seen him do it personally, but I’ve heard he can crush a spine with his bare hands, and that while he does it he forces the victim to call him the ‘hero of Kazakhstan’. And he’s also the driver because he’s very territorial about what music is playing in the car at any given time.” 

Yuuri, who has a hard time remembering names when introduced to more than one person at a time, tries to commit this to memory. He’s going to need coffee if he’s expected to remember five different names and faces. “Do you want some coffee?” Yuuri asks Victor, reluctantly untangling their hands as Yuuri stands up to prepare the coffeemaker. 

“Coffee sounds amazing, Yuuri!” Victor says. 

Yuuri is still standing next to the coffeemaker and waiting for it to finish brewing when someone kisses him on the cheek. Yuuri nearly jumps out of his skin, backing away from the owner of those intruding lips.

“Wonderful to see you, Yuuri,” a tall, blonde man with glasses and an undercut says. Yuuri wonders if the undercut is some sort of rite of passage for the 4F team.

“Don’t tease him, Chris,” Victor calls from his armchair.

“Who says I’m teasing?” Chris replies. “It _is_ wonderful to see him.” Chris pouts a little at Yuuri’s reaction, then heads to the sofa to sit.

Victor frowns. “Chris’s specialty is-“

“- seduction,” Chris interrupts. “And distraction. I can charm anyone into bending to my every desire.” Chris flutters his long eyelashes at Yuuri.

“Yuuri’s my partner, not yours,” Victor says with a frown. Chris raises an eyebrow at the word partner and opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it and stays silent. The room is somewhat tense; Yuuri pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Who are we waiting on?” Chris asks, changing the subject.

“I haven’t seen Phichit or JJ yet,” Victor responds. As if on cue, two more men appear in the doorway.

Yet another guy with an undercut – Yuuri is worried that they’re going to hold him down and initiate them into their version of an Undercut Secret Society and he thinks that he would look absolutely terrible with one - bursts out laughing at the sight of Yuuri. “Oh my god, this guy?!” he says.

“Don’t be rude, JJ,” the man standing next to JJ says. “Hi, I’m Phichit,” he says, extending a hand to Yuuri. “I don’t think we’ve met. Do you have instagram? Of course I can’t follow you because we’re absolutely not supposed to know each other, but I can lurk your photos and talk to you about them in person.”

“Yuuri,” he says. “Um, yes, I have one.” Yuuri doesn’t elaborate further, because he would really just like to drink coffee in peace. Why won’t anyone allow him to finish this cup?

* * *

“So we all have different skills,” Phichit says to Yuuri in the hired van on the way to the airport. Yuuri is still in a bit of a grumpy mood from not being able to finish his coffee earlier.

“I understood as much,” Yuuri says. “What are yours and JJs?”

“My focus is social engineering,” Phichit says. He’s scrolling through twitter as he talks to Yuuri, and Yuuri wonders how he doesn’t get an enormous headache from reading in the moving car.

“I… I don’t know what that is,” Yuuri says.

"Basically it means that I’m really good at manipulating people into doing things or telling me confidential information.” Phichit dramatically points across the rest of the passengers seated in front of them. “I know everything about these guys. And JJ is our breaking and entering expert. He makes difficult entries look easy. He's the king of theft.”

“No lock defeats me!” JJ proclaims from the rear of the van.

“Don’t start singing your stupid song about lockpicking,” Yuri gripes from on front of them.

“I can open the door, JJ, just follow me, I can break the locks, now look at me…” JJ trails off, humming the rest of his upbeat lockpicking tune to himself.

“So yeah, that’s everyone.” Phichit says. “Victor’s not technically part of the team, but we spend so much time with him that he might as well be. He’s like a mascot. But Yakov Feltsman would kill us if we involved Victor in anything we do.”

“Victor, if you were an official agent, what do you think your specialty would be?” Chris asks.

Victor scratches behind Makkachin’s ears. (Victor has somehow won an argument with Yuri over whether or not it was appropriate to bring a dog on a mission.) “Disguise, I think. I’m good at pretending to be different people.”

“What about you, Yuuri?” Phichit asks.

Um… I don’t know. I don’t think I have any talents that would be considered an agent specialty.”

“Seduction,” Chris says with a wink. Yuuri sees Victor elbow Chris in the ribs.

“No way!” Yuuri blushes. “Um… intelligence? I like to think that I’m pretty good at remembering things.”

* * *

The flight from St. Petersburg to Chicago is twelve hours long. Yuuri is pleased to note that they’re back on the same outlandish private plane that initially took him to St. Petersburg; he’s been completely spoiled for commercial travel for the rest of his life. After a significant rest – it seems that nearly everyone sleeps through at least three-quarters of the flight - Yuuri spends his time reading more about the Vesla art thefts (he’s grateful the plane has wifi), petting Makkachin when the poodle decides to boof his way into Yuuri’s lap, or talking to Phichit - who really is quite friendly, but not in a pushy way.

Victor is sitting across the aisle from Yuuri, and towards the end of the flight, Yuuri sees him pull out a sketchpad and begin drawing. He gets up to ask Victor what he’s working on, but Victor refuses to show him.

“It’s just a hint of an idea,” Victor says. “I’d prefer to keep it to myself for now until it becomes more substantial. You understand, right?”

“I understand.” Yuuri is disappointed, but he gets it; art is personal. But he’s absolutely dying to know what Victor is sketching.

* * *

The Feltsman Foundation has only booked four rooms at the Chicago Hilton for the seven of them. Yuuri supposes that they didn’t get to a billion-dollar endowment by spending truckloads of cash on little things like making sure everyone involved in saving the art world got their own hotel room. Chris starts handing out room keys to the other 4F team members while talking to Yuuri. “Usually it’s Phichit and I sharing, and Yuri and Otabek share. JJ usually gets his own room, because… well, he's JJ. He means well, and he’s a great team member, but he can be a bit much. But I doubt he’d mind sharing with you. And Victor always gets his own room no matter what, because he’s Victor. I definitely don’t think that he’d have a problem sharing with you.” Chris raises an eyebrow at Yuuri, holding JJ’s key in one hand, Victor’s in the other.

“I don’t mind sharing with Yuuri,” Victor interjects. “If Yuuri doesn’t mind?”

Yuuri looks at Victor. Victor’s expression is friendly, cautious, perhaps even a bit nervous? What would Victor, of all people, have to be nervous about? “The room has two queen beds, so we wouldn’t be sharing a bed if that’s a problem for you.”

Yuuri swallows hard, then nods. “That’s fine.” They’d spent so much time together over the past few weeks; sharing a room should be nothing, right? Chris hands Yuuri the key for Victor’s room and smirks over Yuuri’s head at Victor. Yuuri feels as though he’s missing something very important.

Yuuri, Victor and Makkachin exit the elevator together and Yuuri follows Victor and Makkachin to room 14104. When they open the door to their hotel room, it’s very apparent that contrary to what they had been told by Chris, their room only has one bed. It’s an enormous king bed, granted, that could comfortably fit four adults or nine Makkachins, but it’s still only one. Yuuri can't stop staring at it.

It's Victor who breaks the uncomfortable silence. “Ugh, Chris... I’ll call the hotel front desk and tell them that they made a mistake. Don't unpack anything just yet.”

Yuuri surprises himself when he says, “It’s fine. I don't want to go to too much trouble-”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I mean… you can call if you want to, but this bed is big enough for the both of us,” Yuuri says. “Unless you'd rather I sleep with JJ?” Victors face takes on an amused expression. “Not like that!” Yuuri protests.

“So that's the type of man you're into? Not-that-tall, dark, Canadian?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “Yes, Victor. Didn't you hear his lockpicking song? A true artist.” 

“So artists are your type.” Victor’s smile grows wider.

“Eh, I can take or leave them,” Yuuri replies, smiling back at Victor.

The two of them stay like that for a minute, staring at each other, until the moment is broken by a strong “woof”.

“Does someone need to go out?” Victor says to Makkachin. “Let's find a place for you to do your business." Victor turns to Yuuri. "I’ll be back in a minute, and then we’ll head down to Chris’s room to find out what the plan is for the rest of the day, okay?” Yuuri nods, and Victor closes the door behind him.

Yuuri takes some time to look around the room, at its dark wood furniture and completely pedestrian photographs of Navy Pier above the headboard, before setting his duffle next to the right side of the bed. He sits down in the armchair next to the window and the fact that he's rooming with Victor, agreeing to share a bed with Victor, hits him like a ton of bricks.

* * *

“Mila sent me a text,” Yuri says while sitting cross-legged on Phichit’s bed. “We’re supposed to meet someone named “ – Yuri looks down at his phone – “Leo de la Iglesia at the museum at 2:30.”

“I think that Yuuri and I should be the ones to met with Leo,” Phichit says. He looks around the room for some signal of disagreement, and continues when he sees none. “Then everyone else can scout the museum and come up with a plan of attack for switching the paintings.”

“I thought I was just in charge of packing and unpacking the painting?”

“Well... we may need you for more than that since you’re the expert curator. I think it would be a good idea for you to be there, just in case. Besides, afterwards you can swing by to take a look at the original _Nighthawks_ and see if Victor’s version is going to pass for the real deal.”

Yuuri nods, though he’s skeptical; he can already tell that his role in these heists is going to be a bit bigger than he’d been led to believe. Still, there’s not much he can do about that now.

“Shouldn’t I go with Yuuri and Phichit?” Victor asks. “After all, I’m the one who painted the copy.”

There’s an awkward silence before JJ finally speaks up. “Uh, Victor… don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not exactly going to be inconspicuous at an art museum.”

“Yeah,” Otabek agrees. “There’s no way you’re coming with us.”

“But I don’t have any paintings at this one,” Victor counters. “My only works owned by American galleries are at SF MOMA and the Museum of Russian Art in Minneapolis. I can wear one of those weird caps with the C on the front that people in this town seem to like.”

Yuri throws up his hands. “You’re Victor Nikiforov!” Yuri says. “You were on the cover of _Artforum_ last month. You’ve won five consecutive Kandinsky Prizes. If you think you won’t be recognized at one of the biggest modern art museums in America then you’re a complete moron.”

Victor sighs, defeated.

“I saw a nice park nearby,” Chris says, patting Victor on the shoulder. “Maybe you and I can take Makkachin for a walk? If no one has any objections to me staying with Victor.” Chris says this while looking at Yuuri, and Yuuri feels a surprising twinge of possessiveness; why, yes, he does mind and yes, he doesn’t want anyone else to be alone with Victor. Still, Yuuri says nothing, only giving Chris the slightest hint of a glare.

* * *

The Art Institute of Chicago is massive; it’s so much bigger than his museum in Hasetsu. Yuuri daydreams a bit about what he could do with all of this space in Hasetsu; more gigantic installations, definitely. He thumbs through their giant brochure, noting that some of his favorite paintings are here. Yuuri wishes that he could at least sneak away to see Magritte’s[ Time Transfixed](http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/34181) in person. He’ll have to come back to Chicago someday. He’d love to spend time in the museum when he’s not smack-dab in the middle of a crazy international art heist.

He imagines walking hand in hand through the museum with Victor. Imagines them showing each other their favorite paintings. Imagines chasing Victor up the museum stairwell and kissing him senseless before they even reach the second floor.

Still, Yuuri knows that no matter how kind Victor is to him, it’s a bad idea to mix business with pleasure. Or so Yuuri hears; he’s never done it before.

Yuuri follows Phichit to the information desk. “Hello,” Phichit says to a bored-looking woman in a wrinkled blazer.

She looks up at Phichit and her face totally changes. "Hi, welcome to the Art Institute of Chicago!” she says with a bright smile. “Are you interested in becoming a museum patron? For just $95 a year -"

Actually, we have a meeting with Leo de la Iglesia?" Phichit interrupts.

Sensing no new additions to her membership quota, the woman scowls. "Fine." She picks up her desk phone and dials an extension. "Leo? Someone's here to see you, a –“

"We're from 4F. He'll know what that is.”

The woman rolls her eyes. "They're from something called 4F. Uh-huh. Okay." She hangs up. "Leo will be with you shortly.” The woman coughs loudly; to Yuuri’s abject horror, she doesn’t bother to cover her mouth.

“In the meantime… are you _sure_ you're not interested in becoming a museum patron?” she presses. “Just ninety-five dollars a year gets you unlimited free museum access as well as other benefits such as access to our member lounge, regular invitations to after-hours events, tickets to an annual screening of _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_ \- part of which was filmed in this very museum –“

“Sorry, we're not locals," Yuuri says sympathetically. He's heard the team at his museum give a similar pitch thousands of times. Though they’re much less aggressive. And he’s certain that no filmmaker has ever even considered filming at the Hasetsu Museum of Modern Art, though they certainly should. A young, brown-haired man in a dark-colored security uniform approaches. "Hi, I'm Leo,” he says.

“I’m Phichit. And this is Yuuri,” Phichit says, gesturing to his right.

“It’s great to meet you both. Please follow me to my office?"

After offering Phichit and Yuuri seats, Leo sits behind his desk, leaning forward with his elbows on the top. "I have to say, I was surprised when Georgi called me a few weeks ago to enlist me as part of this plan.”

“You and Georgi know each other?” Yuuri tries to imagine a friendship between Leo and the despondent tear-streaked man he’d met weeks ago. He can’t. 

“Some of Georgi’s photographs were part of a modern romance-themed exhibit last February. They were quite popular. But then… Americans tend to gravitate toward works with very dramatic, obvious feelings.”

Yuuri nods his head in agreement.

“We've had increased security here since the Vesla thefts started happening, but I never thought they'd come to our museum. At the very least, I thought they’d go after[ _A Sunday on La Grande Jatte_](http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/artwork/27992) because of the movie connection.”

“The rest of the team is going to work out a plan and then we’ll figure out what we need from you in order to implement it,” Phichit says. “But in the meantime, where in the museum should our staging area be in order to swap the paintings?”

“We can use my office,” Leo says. "The collection storage area on campus is just down the hall. We have so many pieces in the collection here that we can't display them all at once. Since it's already temperature-controlled, we can put the original painting there and I’ll tag it as something that no one on earth would go looking for." Leo smiles. “I have a few ideas.”

Yuuri, though still skeptical that any of this is going to work, thinks this at least sounds like the beginnings of a solid plan. “If I wanted to go look at the original _Nighthawks_ , how would I get there from here?”

Leo points in the direction of the door. “There’s an elevator across the way. Modern American Art is on the second floor and _Nighthawks_ is facing the elevator bay – you can’t miss it. Can you believe that the Art Institute only paid Edward Hopper $3,000 for it? That’s the real theft, if you ask me.”

* * *

_Nighthawks_ isn’t hard to find. It’s across from the elevator bay, as Leo had said; even if it wasn’t, the large crowd of people surrounding it would give away its placement.

Yuuri edges his way to the front of the crowd, advancing as patrons fall back. He pulls up a photo of Victor’s copy on his phone, looking back and forth from his phone to the painting. He immediately notices that Victor was correct about the precise geometry; Victor’s approach has really led him to nail the essence of the painting. Yuuri is proud of how well that he was able to match the colors. 

To Yuuri’s eyes – though, granted, he’s working from a photograph on a phone screen - the paintings are basically identical. He feels a surge of hope. He, Victor, and 4F might actually be able to pull this off.

* * *

The 4F team steadfastly refuses to tell Yuuri exactly what the plan to switch the paintings is beyond Yuuri’s small role in it. “The less you know until we’re finished, the better,” Phichit had said to Yuuri after handing him a security uniform. He found that statement a bit condescending – he’s just as much a part of this escapade as they are.

And Victor hadn’t been allowed to come to the museum at all - he and Makkachin had been instructed to wait quietly in the van, and Victor would only be called in if some paint needed touching up. Yuuri could tell that Victor hated being excluded; he’d been pouting about it in that tight-lipped way of his for most of the evening.

As they drive to the museum, Yuuri can only guess at what they’re going to do. He notes that Chris, Phichit, and Otabek are now wearing security uniforms similar to Yuuri’s. JJ and Yuri are outfitted completely in black – well, almost; Yuri has on a leopard-print shirt underneath a black hoodie.

Yuuri shivers and yawns as they get out of the van. It’s past midnight in Chicago; jet lag is starting to catch up to him something fierce. Freezing rain is coming down from the sky and the wind has made the air bitterly cold. Yuuri pulls his cat-eared beanie down low over his ears and wraps his scarf around his neck a third time. He’s glad he thought to wrap the painting in a tarp.

“It feels like I’m standing underneath a waterfall,” Yuri grumbles, putting up the hood of his jacket.

Leo is waiting at the loading dock of the museum, next to an empty guardhouse. He shows Otabek a key card. “Follow me,” Leo says. “Cameras are set up to show footage from a different evening with the same overnight staff.”

They follow Leo down a narrow hallway; at the end of the hall, Leo hands the key card to Yuri, and Yuri and JJ split off from the group to head left as Leo heads right.

“What are they doing?” Yuuri asks.

“I told you, you’ll find out later,” Phichit whispers. The rest of them climb up a small stairwell the leads to the office wing of the museum.

Leo’s office is crowded with the five of them in it; Phichit is basically sitting in Chris’s lap. There’s barely enough room for Yuuri to begin carefully undoing his wrapping handiwork. Otabek kneels next to him to help gently pluck away pieces of cardboard and Styrofoam.

“That actually looks really good,” Phichit admits upon seeing the finished work. “I know Victor’s a genius but… that level of replication is insane.”

Yuuri sighs as he takes a look at the canvas. “You know, in a way, I hate to say goodbye to it.”

“Don’t get too sentimental,” Chris warns. “This probably won’t be the last forgery you’ll construct with Victor.”

“Otabek and I will head into the gallery,” Phichit says. “Yuuri, you and Chris will wait here with Leo until I give Chris the signal.” 

“The signal for what? What will I be doing, exactly?” Yuuri hopes they don’t expect him to be involved in any sort of combat. He’s surprisingly agile for someone in the fine art world given that he took dance lessons for a number of years, but he can’t dance his way through a fight. Unless it’s a dance-off, but that sort of fight seems to only happen in movies or television shows.

“You and Otabek will bring the painting into the gallery. Then you’ll do as thorough of a comparison as you can in about, oh, roughly two minutes. Then we’ll swap the paintings and get out of there,” Otabek says.

Leo pushes a few buttons on a remote and turns on one of the large monitors on the desk behind him. “Here’s the feed for the northernmost part of the Modern American Art wing.”

There’s already a protection officer in the gallery visible on the feed. He doesn’t look to be terribly interested in his job; he keeps looking down at his phone every few minutes and swiping.

Phichit squints at the monitor. “Is he really browsing Tindr in the middle of the gallery?”

Leo sighs. “We’ve hired a lot of temporary protection officers due to the recent thefts, but clearly this one isn’t doing much protecting. Lucky for you guys, but bad for me. At least it means you’ll blend in fairly well since there are a lot of new officers on various shifts.”

Chris’s phone vibrates and he looks down at the screen. “JJ and Yuri are in position. Time to go. Remember, head into the gallery on our signal.”

“But what’s the signal?” Yuuri asks, exasperated.

“Trust me, you’ll know when you see it,” Phichit calls back as he and Chris exit Leo’s office.

Yuuri begins to study the monitor. He doesn’t see JJ or Yuri anywhere, only the guard still browsing Tindr on his phone in front of one of the world’s most valuable paintings.

After about a minute, Phichit enter the frame in a security uniform, looking completely natural. Like he guarded priceless works of art all the time. Though Yuuri supposes that he does guard priceless works of art all the time if you count Victor.

“Why is he holding a giant bottle of water? Where did he even get that?” Leo asks, snapping Yuuri out of his thoughts.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri responds. “Maybe he’s thirsty?”

“He’d better not spill any,” Leo mutters under his breath. “The cleaning crew left hours ago.”

Yuuri watches Phichit take a large, long drink of water from the bottle. He holds up the bottle and has a long conversation with the protection officer currently stationed in the Modern Art gallery. The two of them look at something on the officer’s phone; Phichit does a lot of enthusiastic pointing at the screen. Phichit drinks water after every sentence. Finally, whatever Phichit says is enough to make the officer leave his post-

-And he walks directly into Chris, off-frame, in what can only be described as a thoroughly orchestrated meet-cute situation to Yuuri’s eyes. Chris gives a deep bow to the man, then looks directly at the officer and gives him a huge, exaggerated wink. “That’s our cue,” Otabek says, tapping Yuuri on the shoulder. Otabek picks up _Nighthawks_ and Yuuri follows him out of Leo’s office. 

The two of them walk down another narrow hallway to a large stairwell; “This is a shortcut to get to the second floor, but the stairs are really loud. So... try your best to climb quietly,” Otabek whispers to Yuuri. Yuuri has no problem doing so as he follows Otabek up the stairs; years of dance training have enabled him to move lightly on his feet. Otabek slowly opens the door at the top of the stairs to minimize the noise, and they enter the Modern American Art. The two of them stop in front of _Nighthawks_ ; Otabek holds up the forged painting next to the original so that Yuuri can compare.

After about two minutes or so of looking between the two paintings, Yuuri gives the forgery his seal of approval. “It looks perfect. No touch-ups needed.” He notices that any additional security measures around the painting itself have been removed; no wireless vibration sensors to detect a person’s fingertips, no motion detectors. The metal boilerplate at the bottom of the painting has already been unscrewed. “Yuri and JJ took care of it,” Otabek says, reading Yuuri’s mind.

“We’ll lift it on three,” Otabek instructs. At the end of a whispered three count, Yuuri and Otabek lift the original _Nighthawks_ off of its hooks.

“There’s an inventory number on the back,” Yuuri whispers. “We need to check if it matches the one that Victor and I added. Sometimes museums will store a fake number in their database.”

Otabek looks at the back of both the original and the forgery. “Numbers check out.”

“Then let’s put up Victor’s painting.” Yuuri and Otabek lift Victor’s version of _Nighthawks_ and hang it on the wall. Otabek pulls a level out of – somewhere on his person. Yuuri can’t tell where it came from, exactly.

“How did you hide a level?” Yuuri asks, dumbfounded.

“Don’t worry about it.” He hands the level to Yuuri, who instructs Otabek to pull the painting slightly left to make sure that it’s straight on the wall.

“Good?” Yuuri nods. “Then we’re done.”

“What about securing it to the wall?”

“Yuri and JJ will take care of that.” Otabek picks up the original painting and motions for Yuuri to follow him, and the two of them creep back down the stairwell to Leo’s office. When they arrive, Phichit is already there with Leo, silently watching the monitor. Chris and the protection officer are both out of site of the camera; now Yuri and JJ are on the screen, and they appear to be bickering.

“I knew it was a bad idea to put them together,” Phichit says as Yuri yanks a screwdriver out of JJ’s hand. “They’re going to get caught if they don’t stop arguing. JJ should be securing the painting while Yuri reconfigures the motion detectors.”

Yuuri watches JJ grab the screwdriver back; Yuri holds his wrist while glaring at JJ, then Yuri gives him double middle fingers as Yuri exits the frame. Without Yuri there, JJ quickly attaches the boilerplate, and then practically runs off-screen. He bursts into Leo’s office a minute later.

“Are we good? I did good, right?” JJ says, looking at Phichit and Otabek, face eager for praise.

“You did okay,” Phichit says. “I’ll upgrade you to good if we make it out of here. And you have to stop fighting with Yuri.”

“He started it!” Yuri says, appearing in the doorway. “He wouldn’t stop singing that stupid song."

JJ crosses his arms and glares at Yuri. “It’s my _leitmotif_.”

“You can’t just give yourself one of those in real life! That’s not how it works! And you owe me a new leopard print shirt, asshole.”

“I already apologized for that! Besides, I wouldn’t have torn your shirt sleeve if you hadn't had the sleeves of your hoodie pushed up but not the underneath shirt sleeves 'for the aesthetic'! Or, better yet, if you had just given me the screwdriver like we had planned!”

The two of them continue to argue; Yuuri tunes them out and goes back to watching the security monitor. Chris and the protection officer are back in frame; Chris is holding the protection officer by the arm. Chris shakes his hand, gives him a kiss on the cheek, and leaves the Modern American Art wing.

Finally, Chris enters Leo’s office, closing the door behind him. “We’re good.”

“We’re good?” Leo asks.

“We’re good.”

Yuuri is in awe. They’d successfully switched the paintings. 

“We did it!” Phichit pumps his fist in the air.

“What did you say to the guard?" Yuuri asks Phichit and Chris.

“You saw how I was carrying a water bottle and drinking it in front of him? It was all very subliminal. See, I was subtly convincing him that he needed to use the bathroom. So when he left the bathroom, he ran into Chris –“

“-and he fell victim to my charms,” Chris says, waggling his eyebrows. Yuri makes a gagging noise. “Not like that. I wouldn’t have kissed that guy with your mouth, Yuri.”

“Hey!”

Yuuri looks at the painting, then back to Phichit. "We did it,” he says, finally allowing himself to smile.

* * *

Victor’s sound asleep, Makkachin curled up at his side, when the rest of them get back to the van. “Mission accomplished,” Yuuri whispers to Victor in the dark as Victor pulls himself back into a seated position. He pulls Victor into as much of a hug as he can manage while seated next to someone in a rental van. Victor seems surprised at first, then relaxes into Yuuri’s arms.

When the group gets back to the hotel they disperse immediately to their rooms. Yuuri and Victor take turns getting ready for bed in silence. Victor gets into bed first, thoughtfully turning down the bed on Yuuri’s side so that he has plenty of blankets. The two of them say goodnight and drift off to sleep on opposite sides of the bed.

Yuuri wakes up after about two hours of sleep. He can’t shake off the adrenaline of a successful heist. Yuuri feels a weight in front of him; at some point, Yuuri has rolled over on his side and put his arm around Victor. He tries to move his arm, but Victor grunts and tugs gently on Yuuri’s hand to keep it in place. Yuuri then falls back into a deep sleep.

When Yuuri wakes again a few hours later, it’s still ungodly early. However, Victor is missing from the bed. Instead, he's seated in the armchair, sketching away. “Good morning,” Victor says with a smile. Yuuri thinks Victor is just as beautiful in the morning, with messy hair and sleepy eyes.

“Morning,” Yuuri mumbles, giving Victor a small, tired smile.

“Yuuri… we still have a few hours before we have to get on the plane. Would you like to go on a walk with me?” Victor asks. Yuuri nods and pulls himself out of bed, dressing quickly.

Yuuri walks in silence with Victor and Makkachin once they exit the hotel, the city gray and still in the early hours.

“Chris and I saw this thing on our walk with Makkachin yesterday. I want to show it to you.” Victor says. Yuuri follows as they walk past the museum into a small plaza. No one else is around; it’s too early.

Victor stops in front of what appears to be a giant, silver… bean-shaped object. Yuuri can see their distorted reflection in the shape.

“It’s named Cloud Gate,” Victor says. “But I was told that everyone in Chicago just calls it The Bean.”

“It’s huge,” Yuuri says.

“Will you take a picture with me? In the reflection? Don’t worry, I won’t post it anywhere. But I’d just like to have it. To remember, well… all of this.”

Yuuri smiles. “I would like that.”

Victor scoops up Makkachin in his left arm and holds his phone out with his right to take a picture of him and Yuuri as reflected in the mirrored silver.

“I really liked being even a small part of what happened yesterday,” Victor says.

“Are you kidding? You were a big part!” Yuuri exclaims. “No one else could’ve painted what you did.”

“Yes, but not being there made me feel… different from everyone else.” Victor pauses. “I’m tired of - never mind. Anyway, Yuuri, what do you want me to be to you?”

“What do you mean?” Yuuri asks, confused.

“I mean… do you consider me a mentor? A friend?”

Yuuri looks directly into Victor’s eyes. “We’re partners. You said so yourself. All you have to be is Victor – my partner.”

Yuuri swears that Victor’s smile single-handedly brightens the grey sky surrounding them.

Three weeks after their return to St. Petersburg, while he and Victor have just begun work on their next forgery, Yuuri sees the headline:

_NIGHTHAWKS STOLEN FROM CHICAGO MUSEUM_

If Yuuri had bothered to the very bottom of the article, he would’ve noticed Vesla’s strange claim that they had found a small piece of leopard print fabric wedged between the frame and the boilerplate.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me about undercut leitmotifs at [nagoyadelay](https://nagoyadelay.tumblr.com).


End file.
